


Two Billies

by nirvhannahcornell



Category: Billie Eilish (Musician), Green Day
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Come on What Were You Expecting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 09:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19423600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirvhannahcornell/pseuds/nirvhannahcornell
Summary: Clash of the Billies! Vaguely inspired by the Argument Clinic.





	Two Billies

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in about twenty minutes, so I don't blame you if you don't find this in the least bit funny. Just something that came to mind out of nowhere.

Billie Eilish walks into a coffee shop one afternoon and upon ordering a small iced tea and giving the barista her name, she takes a seat on the bar stools next to the counter. She turns to her right and sees Billie Joe Armstrong next to her reading a book; she gazes at him long enough for him to lift his head to make eye contact with her. He takes off his reading glasses.  
“Hey, your name's Billie,” said Billie  
“And your name's Billie,” replies Billie.  
“But which one of us is the real one?”  
“Whoever asks about books first.”  
“Okay. What'cha reading?”  
“The Twin Towers… Lord of the Rings.”  
“Sweet.”  
“You readin' anything right now?”  
“Aside from my own poetry, not really.”  
“Come onnnn... you've gotta be reading something.”  
“Okay—er, um... emails? Snaps?”  
He chuckles.  
“Okay, okay, okay, those count.”  
She gives her blue hair a toss back.  
“You know what else counts?”  
“What's that?”  
“A metronome.”  
“A metronome!”  
“A metronome,” said Billie. “And every time someone in here says our name, one of us have to run around the proverbial metronome inside our minds and count to five.”  
“Okay,” said Billie.  
“One, two, three—”  
“You mean Uno, Dos, Tre.”  
“One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.”  
“That, too.”  
“Hey, Billie,” someone behind them says.  
“Hi!” they reply in unison.  
“Okay, one of us has to count to five,” says Billie.  
“Why should we do that?” asks Billie.  
“I dunno.”  
“Tell you what—we'll split the bill and do it together.”  
“And now why would we do that?” demands Billie.  
“'Cause one of us American Idiots has a bellyache—OH!”  
“Very funny,” says Billie with a roll of the eyes.  
“Oh, come on, that was golden!”  
“Maybe golden, maybe fool's gold. Ooh, that's a lyric I should write down!”  
“Put it in a lock box.”  
“In a what?”  
“A lock box.”  
“A lock box under a chair?”  
“A lock box that's shaped like a heart.”  
“Ohhhh, I see. So the heart shaped box inside of your chest.”  
“Who said it was inside of my chest?”  
“I did. Just now.”  
“Like a birdhouse into your heart?”  
“So lemme get this straight—we hop from our own tunes to Saturday Night Live to Nirvana and then to They Might Be Giants within five seconds?”  
“More like thirty seconds.”  
Silence.  
“That was not five seconds,” Billie points out.  
“Sure it was,” says Billie.  
“No, it wasn't.”  
“Yes, it was.”  
“No, it wasn't.”  
“Yes, it was!”  
“Mah name's Billy, too,” a guy next to them chortles out.  
“There's only two of us!” they declare in unison. They gape at each other.  
“What the hell did we just do?” asks Billie.  
“Isolated ourselves, that's what we did,” Billie taunts.  
“We've gotta jump around the metronome and count to five now.”  
“We?” Billie demands, shocked. “We? We?”  
“Yes, 'we'. We replied at the same time, therefore—”  
“No.”  
“No?”  
“No.”  
“Yes.”  
“No.”  
“Yes.”  
“No.”  
“Yes.”  
“No.”  
“Yes.”  
“No.”  
“Yes.”  
“No.”  
“Yes.”  
“Maybe.”  
“Maybe?”  
“Yes, maybe. Or no, maybe. I dunno.”  
“Where's Billie when you need a Billie—” a woman behind them says off hand.  
“Here!” they say in unison. They gape at each other.  
“Ohhhhhh, no,” Billie says with the wag of a finger.  
“Ohhhhhh, yes!” Billie exclaims. “She was referring to me!”  
“No.”  
“Yes.”  
“No.”  
“Yes.”  
“No!”  
“Yes!”  
“I love you Hortens.”  
“What?”  
“I love you, Hortens.”  
“The hell?”  
“Remember that Looney Tunes cartoon where Porky Pig thinks Daffy Duck is dead and he wakes up and says 'I love you, Hortens'? That's where that's from.”  
“…'kay.”  
Silence. “Still.”  
“What?”  
“I said 'still.'”  
“Why?”  
“Because.”  
“Because why?”  
“Because I can.”  
“Because you can what?”  
“What what?”  
“No, I was asking you that you can do what.”  
“What what?”  
“That's what I'm asking!”  
“Some person named Billie—” a person behind them says.  
“Yes?” they say at the same time. They gape at each other.  
“Someone gimme a bell jar,” Billie grumbles.  
“What do you need a bell jar for?” asks Billie.  
“Have you read the Bell Jar?”  
“As a matter of fact, I have. At—some… place.”  
“What do you mean some place?”  
“I forget where.”  
“Now how could you forget where you read something like that?”  
“'Cause I pay attention to the book, that's why, mah twin tower.”  
“Billie?” the barista calls out.  
“YO!” they both call out in unison. They gape at one another.  
“She was calling me!” said Billie.  
“No, she was calling me!” Billie insisted.  
“No, she was calling me!”  
“No, me!”  
“Yes!”  
“No!”  
“Yes!”  
“No!”  
“Yes!”  
“No!”  
“Yes!”  
“No!”  
“Yes!”  
“No!”  
“Yes!”  
“No! No, no, no! I'm Billie!”  
“No, I'm Billie!”  
“Alright, maybe one of us should change our name.”  
“No.”  
“No? Why? Don't you wanna be named Spartacus?”  
“Now would I call myself Spartacus?”  
“Because once we reach the end of the metronome we can become one with Sparta. Kiss.”  
“Kiss?”  
“Yeah. You know. Sealed with a kiss? SWAK?”  
“SWAK? That sounds like a Batman sound effect.”  
“We roll with Superman, though.”  
“Again—we?”  
“I, me, my, we. All of us.”  
“Who?”  
“You, me, everyone in here and everyone in the world.”  
“Billie!” the barista calls again, and they look at one another.”  
“Wait, what about Billie Jean?”  
“What about her?”  
“She's the tie breaker!”  
“No, she's not.”  
“Why not?”  
"What about Ode to Billie Joe?"  
"What about that?"  
"Why not?"  
"Ooh! Ooh! What about Billie Holliday?"  
"The time I go on holiday is the day I change my name."  
"Why is that?"  
“Because I wear jeans but the kid is not mine.”  
“How do you know?”  
“I just do.”  
“How?”  
“Because my name is Spartacus and the metronome is up.”  
"No, it's not."  
"Sure, it is."  
"No."  
"Yes."  
"No."  
"Yes."  
"No."  
"Yes! And if I'm Spartacus, you must be Hortens!"  
"No, I'm not."  
"Yes, you are!"  
"No, I'm not! I'm Billie, not Spartacus or Hortens."  
"But I'm Billie, though."  
"No, you're Spartacus."  
"I am?"  
"Yes!"  
"Why?"  
"Because my name is Billie not Spartacus."  
"But if I'm Spartacus, you must be Hortens. Wait, who are you?"  
"I'm Billie. I, me, my, we, just how you said."  
"So if you're 'we', you must be the one controlling the metronome."  
"No."  
"No?"  
"I don't control the metronome."  
"Then who does?"  
"Hortens."  
"Who's Hortens?"  
"Maybe we'll never know. All I can say is I love Hortens."  
"And I love you, Spartacus."  
"The name's Billie."  
"Sure it is."  
"It is, though?"  
"But how can I be sure?"  
"Because I love you and you're in the lock box in my heart."  
"The lock box locked by the metronome that resets itself every time one of us counts out to five?"  
Silence.  
"The same," says Billie.  
"Makes sense," replies Billie with a shrug.  
"Hey, Billie!" says someone behind them.


End file.
